


Question & Answer

by 4vrAFangirl



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Matchmaking, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 13:47:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8919448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4vrAFangirl/pseuds/4vrAFangirl
Summary: “Remind my again, why it was ‘imperative’ that I come to this, Sir,” Coulson says as he makes his way over to the corner where Fury is tucked away, observing the evening’s festivities with his usual mask of disinterest and annoyance.





	

“Remind my again, why it was ‘imperative’ that I come to this, Sir,” Coulson says as he makes his way over to the corner where Fury is tucked away, observing the evening’s festivities with his usual mask of disinterest and annoyance.

“Cheese, if I had to drag my happy ass to this party, you can be damned sure that I’m making you come along too,” the director scowls, shaking his head.

“Misery loves company, then, Sir?”

“Like the Council members like the open bar,” Fury confirms, folding his hands across his chest as Coulson goes into a parade rest observing some of the individuals in question across the room. “Though Miss Romanov informs me she’s already managed to get some potential blackmail material on a few of them that might help grease the wheels the next time we need or want something they’d rather not give us.” Coulson nods. He’d make a remark about the fact that neither of them seems to understand the purpose of a holiday party, but he’s not really any better himself, and the opportunity is too good to be passed up.

“And Clint,” Coulson asks curiously, inconspicuously searching the crowd for a familiar crop of spiky blonde hair.

“Jesus Coulson, you are about as subtle as one of those Acme anvils from the cartoons. How are you a goddamn spy, and how the hell is it possible Barton, doesn’t know? You tell me he’s bright,” Fury mutters, shaking his head.

“He is,” Coulson insists immediately, probably a little too defensive. Yeah, maybe he’s not being terribly subtle at the moment, he thinks. But it’s a party, and this is his best friend, he can afford to let his guard down just a little. Nick’s only half serious in giving him grief about this- ‘out of love’, not that the Director would ever admit as much.

“Uh, huh,” the other man nods, sounding completely unimpressed. “Tell me, how long has Barton been working here?”

“Two years, three weeks, and four days, Sir,” Coulson replies before he can stop himself. Damn. Should’ve stopped with the one glass of scotch, he thinks biting the inside of his cheek, only just managing to tamp down an embarrassed flush at the back of his neck he’s pretty sure his friend is savvy enough to pick up on anyway.

“Mmm, and just how long are you planning on waiting before you ask him about interviewing for a possible and more _personal_ promotion?”

“I’m not,” Coulson replies shaking his head. “Waiting,” he clarifies.

“Good, because I’ll be honest with you Cheese, I don’t think I can stomach much more of this pining crap. It’s damned sad.”

“I’m not telling him,” Coulson interrupts. “I can’t.”

“Sure, you can. You know every policy and form we have here, Coulson. Hell, you helped write or re-write most of them in some capacity or other since you came on board. So long as you’re professional, you fill out the proper paperwork if it becomes serious, and it doesn’t interfere with your work there’s no rules or policy against dating coworkers. So it’s simple. You just offer to buy him- I don’t know whatever the man likes,” Fury grumbles dismissively. “Coffee? Pizza? And then somewhere in there casually mention that he’s singularly responsible for giving you the absolute worst case of blue balls.” Phil who’s decided to hell with it and is nursing his second glass of scotch again, chokes, making the other man chuckle as he sets it back down on a nearby table. “Or,” Fury drawls with a smirk that makes the other man more than a little uneasy. “You run down the clock and do what everybody else will be doing in a minute, and go from there,” he continues. “Barton,” he barks, beckoning the archer over towards them.

“I hate you,” Coulson mutters.

“You can thank me later,” Fury smiles deviously, ducking away and disappearing into the crowd before Clint has quite made his way over to them with impressive ease for a man of his height and stature among the other agents in attendance.

“Sir,” Clint asks curiously, looking around when he pulls up short in front of his handler. “Fury wanted to see me, Sir?”

“Sorry, Barton, I’m afraid he was abruptly called away,” Coulson lies smoothly, mentally cursing his friend. Clint shrugs as behind him a growing number of agents are watching the television where the ball has begun to drop, counting down the seconds. Phil’s hands clench a little where they clasp each other behind his back.

_20…19…18…_

The older man is suddenly aware of his heart hammering in his chest. “You should probably go find Natasha,” he suggests, much as it pains him to say it. Everyone knows the two are damn near inseparable. And Phil’s happy for them. Really, he is. He’s gotten used to disappointments like this. Clint was always a bit out of his league.

“She’s over there,” Clint nods unconcernedly. “About to make out with Hill from the looks of it,” the archer adds with an amused smirk.

“What,” Coulson manages startled, whipping around to look at the pair of them in alarm. _How had he missed that?_  

_5…4…3…_

There’s a hand on his cheek, roughened from its use, but warm and not at all unpleasant, turning his head slowly back to face the blonde-haired man in front of him. Clint smiles softly.

_2…1…_

Lips press against his. Gentle, tentative, unsure, a wordless question. So Coulson lets himself meet the other man in the middle, an arm wrapping around him, fingers reaching up to tangle in the hair at the back of his neck the way he’s only ever dreamed of doing as his mouth chases Clint’s in answer.


End file.
